


Scenes Above Ashina Castle

by cycleofabsurdcircles



Category: Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice (Video Game)
Genre: A Moment of Rest, Character Study, Dialogue Heavy, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Light Angst, Poetry, R&R, Team as Family, taking a break
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22440922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cycleofabsurdcircles/pseuds/cycleofabsurdcircles
Summary: A collection of short and relaxing scenes taking place in Kuro's room.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Scenes Above Ashina Castle

The raging storm from midday was now far to the west and everything in Ashina Castle was still. The rooftops glistened in the golden light of the late afternoon sun, everything covered in thin powdery snow. The temperature hadn’t risen at all since morning.

It was quiet, as though a crashing wave had run through the courtyards and washed away all sound: even the barking orders of the generals that had rung through the main thoroughfare not hours ago were gone. 

High above this silence, at the top of the castle keep, Kuro, the Divine Heir and scion of the Dragon’s Heritage, sat on a windowsill of his chamber, looking out over Ashina with his hands folded in his lap and his bare feet dangling over the courtyard below. It had been a long and difficult day for the young lord already.

“My lord,” Emma spoke behind him, “Come away from the window. You’ll catch a cold.”

Kuro smiled. “Thank you for your concern, Lady Emma, but I’m not certain I can even be sick.” 

He turned away and stepped back into the warmth of the library. Emma, the gentle and skilled physician, was kneeling at a small table they had placed by the window, skimming through a large pile of books. Her brown robe was covered in dust from the many books she’d looked through, and the neat brown bun of her hair was beginning to show loose strands. She had kicked off her sandals long ago; they lay neatly next to her. 

“Anything?” Kuro asked.

“Nothing,” she replied. “No mention of immortal severance yet. Just poorly copied sutras and some rather esoteric books on gardening.”

He smiled. _What would my gruff shinobi say,_ he thought, _if he returned from his dangerous mission to find us reading difficult books on growing peaches?_

“Lady Emma,” Kuro asked hesitantly, “do you think that Wolf is cold?” He felt foolish as soon as he said it.

To his surprise, Emma chuckled lightly, not looking up. “Judging from the state of his body, I am amazed he can feel anything at all. I’m never seen so many scars.”

Kuro felt oddly comforted by that. He chided himself for forgetting the life his shinobi had lived, even before his service. 

“Besides,” she continued, “Lord Isshin has told me before that Senpou Temple is not quite of this earth. The branches blossom and the leaves fall at the same time there, no matter the season. I imagine he may be more comfortable than we are.”

Emma closed the book she was reading with a sigh and stood. “I was just thinking of making tea,” Emma said. “Would you like some as well?”

“Yes, thank you, Lady Emma.” 

She bowed slightly and stepped through the open door into the main chamber beyond, leaving Kuro alone amongst the musty stacks.

Lord Takeru’s library was small but surprising. Kuro had always been impressed by its diversity: Ashina was not known as a place of great learning, but books of all sorts still drifted through on merchant carts. Takeru had bought them all up voraciously with little regard for their topics. 

Still, while the breadth of knowledge Takeru sought was commendable, his organization was definitely lacking. Everything was haphazardly stuffed into the low shelves, as though he would take a book down to read and then put it back wherever he happened to be standing when he finished. There were historical texts next to collections of recipes next to raunchy plays next to collections of illustrations next to books in strange languages. Even worse, Takeru had left his own personal documents on the shelves as well: any book you took would inevitably shake loose a dry legal document or some tense correspondence with a neighboring lord.

That messiness was the main delay he and Emma faced, and their frustration with it had led them to take frequent breaks. Luckily, reading was also a long cherished hobby of the young lord, and Takeru’s frustrating library for work was a treasure for recreation; as soon as they stopped reading for purpose, Kuro immediately began reading for pleasure. 

He dragged his index finger lazily across the volumes, not looking for anything in particular. _I wonder if Lord Isshin will allow me to organize these,_ he thought. _After all, he was kind enough to recover the remaining books from Hirata after the fire. Perhaps I can ask him to move them from the moonview tower here?_

He stopped. Stuffed amongst the volumes was a well-worn book bound in cracked leather. The spine was tremendously creased; Takeru must have read this book many times.

Kuro took the book down. The cover was blank, except for a loose engraving of a sakura tree in bloom. He opened to the title page and began to read aloud. “A Hundred Short Poems of the New Style.” Each page had only a few terse lines of calligraphy, each with beautiful landscapes lightly sketched in ink.

“Emma, are you familiar with this style of poetry?” he called. “The verses are quite short.” 

“Why don’t you read one aloud, my lord?” she responded.

Kuro closed his eyes, flipped through the pages, and then opened them again.

_Kuro:_  
“ _Silent by the door_

_I wait for my lover’s hand_

_To return to mine.”_

Kuro breathed in sharply. Reading that aloud had made his chest feel tight, like someone was wringing out a wet cloth there. He suddenly wanted a cup of tea very badly.

Emma stepped back through the door holding a tray with a teapot and two cups. “A common topic, to be sure, but elegantly written,” she murmured, setting the tray down on the low table and kneeling beside it.

Kuro coughed, trying to regain his composure. “I... I don’t understand. They are just sitting at the door, waiting for someone to come back? That’s all?”

“That’s all,” Emma said.

Kuro pursed his lips, still unsure of how to feel. He closed the book and placed it gingerly back on the shelf before coming over and kneeling at the table as well. Emma poured the tea and they both took a few careful sips. They sat in silence for a moment.

“But…” Kuro said slowly. “But we don’t even know who they’re waiting for or where they’ve gone. What about the rest? How are we supposed to know what happens from just that?”

Emma set her cup down. “It’s not about the details, my lord. It’s an expression of a feeling, succinctly and carefully. It doesn’t matter who the individuals are. What matters are the feelings of longing for one another.” 

Once again, Kuro felt his chest tighten. 

“I still don’t think I understand,” he muttered. 

Emma turned for a moment to look out the window, thinking.

“Why don’t you try writing a poem of that style, my lord? There is no better way to understand something than to try it yourself. Surely there is something on your mind, some feeling you wish to express.”

Kuro looked down at the table.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll give it a try.”

Emma smiled and stood. “Wait here, my lord. I’ll retrieve paper and ink. Think about what you would like to say.” 

She bustled about the room collecting loose scraps of (mostly) blank paper from the shelves and the brush and ink. Kuro took them and began slowly writing, filled with false starts that he crossed out with swift strokes. 

“Alright, I believe I’ve finished,” he said after a few minutes.

Emma nodded, looking slyly over the rim of her teacup. “Please, read it aloud, my lord. I’m certain your words will be moving.”

_Kuro:_

_“Reading such poems_

_Tightens my chest and I feel_

_Embarrassed to speak_.”

Emma snorted. Kuro’s face flushed.

“That’s how I feel, Lady Emma,” he said, eyebrows furrowed. 

She waved her hand in front of her face, still chuckling. “No, no, you’ve taken the right first step,” she said. “Honesty is the first ingredient. Eloquence comes later.” 

Kuro took another quick breath to steady himself. “So, you _are_ familiar with these poems?”

“Of course, my lord. That collection I am particularly familiar with: it was a favorite of Lady Tomoe. She and Lord Takeru both enjoyed it greatly.”

Kuro remembered the mushy poem and felt himself in danger of blushing again. He turned his face away and asked a little too loudly, “D-did they read these poems aloud as well?’ 

“They did indeed. I remember them spending many a spring day under the Everblossom, reading to each other secretly amongst the falling petals.” She smirked as Kuro tried turning his face even farther away. “But the whole court knew the book: they would often all gather together for performances.”

“Is that so?” Kuro said excitedly, turning back to face her. “I would have liked to see that!”

“Indeed, it was always quite an event. Lord Takeru encouraged the court to write their own poems and present them.” She smiled. “I must admit that I have had the singular pleasure of seeing Master Dogen read a stirring poem about treating rashes and boils.”

Kuro giggled. “Have you written one before, Lady Emma?”

“I have,” she replied. “Would you like to hear it?”

Kuro nodded and leaned forward in anticipation. Emma cleared her throat, closed her eyes, and began.

_Emma:_

_“The simple hand tool_

_Will direct any anger_

_Into divine things.”_

“Ah, I like that one!” Kuro exclaimed. “That one I understand!” 

Emma bowed her head slightly. “Thank you. I wrote it long ago for a friend. Although, I wonder if perhaps I should have said _onto_ divine things.” 

She took a sip of tea, tactfully ignoring Kuro’s confused expression. “Now that you grasp the form,” she continued, “why don’t you try again?”

Kuro nodded and began to write more confidently. Several times he stood up and paced back and forth in front of the window, muttering softly to himself before sitting back down. The wind came through the slats, bringing with it the faint smell of wood smoke. 

Finally, he put the brush down and clapped his hands. “Done! Ready to hear it?”

“One moment,” Emma said. She put her teacup down, brought her hand up to her chin, and put on an expression of intense concentration. “I’m ready,” she said in a serious voice. “Please proceed.”

_Kuro:_

_“Empty castle halls_

_A breeze bringing the sweet air_

_of busy kitchens.”_

Emma sighed wistfully. “Now _that_ is true poetry.” 

Kuro smiled proudly. “What do you think Lord Takeru would think of it?”

“He would most certainly read it before the entire court.” 

Kuro took another sip of tea, trying to ignore the pangs in his belly. Ashina had been under siege for a long time; it had been weeks since there was enough food for a proper meal.

Suddenly a shrill whistle cut through the silence outside. Kuro tensed and Emma’s fingers instinctively went to her side. They both listened for a moment.

“The Nightjar are on the move,” Emma said. Her hand relaxed back onto the table. “Perhaps Lord Isshin has ordered them away.”

Kuro said nothing. It had only been a few hours, but it felt like an eternity had passed since Lord Genichiro had delivered his ultimatum on the rooftop. He had been so glad to see his shinobi again and he felt more certain than ever that the Dragon’s Heritage was nothing but an ancient curse, but still he wished it had gone differently. Wolf was now far away, amongst profane surroundings, suffering tirelessly and silently to serve his master. Lord Genichiro could be anywhere, almost certainly still wounded from the battle and driven mad by his desire for power.

He wished that Ashina didn’t need to seek his power with such blind fortitude. 

“”Lady Emma,” he said quietly, “Is it alright if I try one more time?”

Her face softened. “Of course, my lord,” she replied.

This time, Kuro knew exactly what he wanted to say. He wrote it carefully and with no flourishes, and when he was done he read it aloud immediately.

_Kuro:_

_“Not fear nor the cold_

_Snow swirling around lightning;_

_I shiver with grief.”_

Neither of them spoke. A soft breeze blew through the window, setting off the windchimes. The afternoon light was slowly turning to red.

“Perhaps that’s enough poetry for one day,” Emma said softly. “Are you finished with your tea?”

Kuro started as if from a dream. “Oh! Y-yes, I am. Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is currently ongoing and will have four more chapters within the next month or so.


End file.
